


New History

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Series: Charlie Verse! [7]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kid Fic, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 09:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6368629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His name is Dick Simmons and he has a kid.</p><p>He’s still not quite sure how that happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New History

His name is Dick Simmons and he has a kid.

He’s still not quite sure how that happened.

“Hey Dad,” Lauren says from the living room, her dark brown hair tucked up in a bun just like her father used to wear during their soldier days. At thirteen years old, she’s already almost as tall as Grif, and Simmons is sure she’ll surpass him by the time she hits her final growth spurt. “Where do you keep the wrench?”

Simmons looks up from the papers he’s grading to think that one through. He’s only halfway through the stack of calculus exams he’s working on, and at the rate he’s going, he’s sure he won’t be done by the date he promised his students. Not that they’ll mind, they’ll enjoy having another day of denial, but there’s still the principle behind the matter. “Depends. Which one?”

“The one you use for your finger bolts.”

That one is easy, Simmons thinks, reaching into his pocket. He lifts it up and when Lauren sees it, the grin that spreads across her face reminds her a bit of himself at her age. Like she inherited a Simmons' family trait despite having absolutely no relation to him by blood.

“That’s it.” She holds up and hand and Simmons doesn’t think twice before tossing it to her. She catches it in one throw, more graceful that either of her parents could ever hope to be, and waves at him.

“Thanks, Dad!”

And with that, she’s gone, heading for what Simmons assumes it garage. Simmons gets through two more tests before he realizes not asking Lauren what she’s working on might have been a bad idea.

The fire alarm goes off a second later. Simmons sighs as the sprinkler system begins to rain upon his newly graded stack of tests.

His name is Dick Simmons and his kid is a menace.

For that he knows entirely who to blame.

* * *

It is seven years ago, his name is Dick Simmons and he is not good with children.

Why Chancellor Kimball has begged him to take one in is beyond him.

“You want us,” Simmons says, looking over at Grif to make sure that was who he brought to this meeting instead of someone relatively competent. “To take in a kid? Are you insane?”

“No,” Kimball says and even with the war over and done with, she still sounds exhausted all the time. “I am desperate.”

Here is the facts, facts Simmons becomes aware of in a flurry of statistics. There is a large amount of orphans on Chorus and not enough adults to take care of them. There are no families currently looking to adopt. Foster homes and systems are full. The UNSC will not be here to help with the crisis for at least another month.

“We need homes. Just temporary, somewhat stable homes. For a month. It’s not ideal. But I need them anyway.”

“Why ask us?” Simmons says. “You got plenty of others to choose from. Normal people.”

Kimball laughs and it’s a grim noise. “You say that like I haven’t already.”

Reality sinks into Simmons’ bones like a dead weight in water.  

Grif is silent as she explains the specifics. Just a month. Nothing more, nothing less. She already has a child in mind, a five year old girl, someone who won’t be too ill at ease in their household. As close to a good fit as they’ll get.

“She's been in a lot of foster homes. Loud ones.” Kimball passes over the file. “Staying with you two for a month won’t be too different from what she’s used to. In fact, it might be more relaxing.”

Simmons looks at the file in front of him. The girl in the photo looks absolutely miserable, arms crossed, eyes right on the ground. Her arm is in a cast. Simmons can only guess why.

They lost a lot of people in Armonia. And they've only lost more since, with stray pirates from the war still lingering four years later.

Grif peels the file out of his hands. Simmons waits for him to turn this absurd idea down, they aren’t fit to raise a cactus for Christ’s sake, but he just looks at the photo. Flips through the file pages. Purses his lips.

“When should we expect her to show up?”

Simmons is not sure which of them looks more surprised; him or Kimball.

* * *

His name is Dick Simmons and his daughter has more ambition than him and Grif combined.

This scares him more than he’d like to admit.

“And then I passed the issue out. Right in front of his smug face.”

“Right on, kid,” Grif says, outstretching his hand for a high five across the lunch table. Most days, Lauren isn’t here for lunch, off at school, but today is a special occasion.

The special occasion being that Lauren is suspended.

“Let me get this straight,” Simmons says, taking up his glass of water to take a long drink. He stopped eating his food as soon as Lauren started her tale. “You learned you teacher was smuggling millions from the school and you published it in the school paper? Instead of bringing it to the cops?”

Lauren looks at him like he’s saying something obvious. It’s very demeaning coming from a 13 year old. “The cops were in on it Dad. Weren’t you listening?”

“Yeah Simmons,” Grif says through a mouthful of ham. “Weren’t you listening?”

Oh, Simmons was listening. He just didn’t want to believe his daughter had exposed her teacher in her local school paper when her teacher could have very well attacked her for it.

“You could have been hurt, Lauren,” he says, hoping he doesn’t have to spell out all the ways this could have gone wrong. Because if he goes that route, they will be here until dinner time. “That man is dangerous.”

Lauren shakes her head. “He couldn’t have attacked me in public; it’ll ruin his defense during the trial. And if he did,” she says before taking a bit of her mashed potatoes. “Charlie would have protected me.”

It says something about his life, Simmons thinks, that the best protection his daughter can think of is a twelve year old, half-alien daughter of a war criminal.

“Look,” Grif says later that night when Simmons is still fretting about could have beens and what still might be. “She’s a smart kid. Little too fond of taking risks, I’ll give you that, but she isn’t stupid. That guy couldn’t have done shit with how she did it.”

“I know he couldn’t have.” Simmons is pacing. He tends to pace when stressed. A habit from his father. “But what about when she takes on something bigger. Something stronger. Something more dangerous. Someone like Hargrove.”

Grif, who is sitting in an armchair that has his ass perfectly indented, goes still for a second. When he speaks, it’s the soldier talking, the soldier who Simmons has only seen on a handful of occasions.

“We back her up.”

Simmons closes his eyes and thinks of Epsilon’s empty chip and wonders if that’s enough.

* * *

His name is Dick Simmons and there is a five year girl on his doorstep.

Simmons has never been more terrified in his life. And he has been shot at.

“Mr. Grif. Mr. Simmons.” The Agent says, pushing the kid forward. She isn’t looking at them.  “This is Lauren”

Lauren looks a lot like she did in the pictures, wider set, dark black hair, a round chin that hasn’t lost its baby fat, and just as miserable. Simmons can’t blame her; he doubts she wants them as babysitters for a month. Grif however takes a step forward and crouches down in front of her.

“Hey kid,” he says. “How do you feel about the color red?”

That causes her to look up. Her eyes are a dark brown and it is then Simmons notices the splattering of freckles across her dark skin. They remind him strangely of the ones that plaster his own face. “It’s okay.”

“And the color blue?”

The kid frowns at that. “Hate it.”

“Awesome.” Grif stands up and opens the door wide. “Want to see your room?”

And with that Lauren enters their lives.

It will take Simmons a full month to realize he doesn’t want her to leave it.  

* * *

His name is Dick Simmons and his daughter is gay.

She announces this at the dining room table as an afterthought.

It’s not a surprise. In fact, it’s far from it; his daughter has never shown any interest in boys in the slightest. But the manner of fact way she tells them, like she’s commenting on the weather, catches Simmons off guard and he can’t help but drop his fork.

This is a mistake.

“Dad,” Lauren says, and she sounds uncertain. Afraid. “Is something wrong?”

Nothing is wrong, Simmons thinks. Nothing is wrong at all. He couldn’t care less who his daughter decides to like.

It is just odd, to look at her casual manner and think of his own, decades ago, when he did the same exact thing.

_“You must be mistaken, Dick.”_

_“That’s not natural.”_

_“Take it back.”_

He forces himself out of the memory, because the memory is his own demon, one his daughter does not need to face.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Simmons says, reaching forward to pass her another roll from the dinner table. “Just hoping you have more confidence around girls than I ever did.”

Lauren beams at him, really grins, the full on Grif smile, and when she laughs it’s enough to make Simmons’ demons vanish back into the shadows where they belong.

* * *

His name is Dick Simmons and he is woken up by a five year old screaming in the middle of the night.

Lauren has been living with them for a week and a half now, and while Grif has been handling nightmares for the most part, the stomach flu has him down for the count. So this time, it is Simmons who rushes to the guest room they have ready, Simmons who takes in the little girl bawling her eyes out into her pillow from phantoms of a war past who will not let her be.

Simmons knows nothing about children. But he knows something about nightmares. So he sits down next to her, and holds out his arm. The robot one.

“You see this this?” The little girl peered at him from behind her pillow. “It’s robotic. You know what that means?”

“I know what robotic means,”  she sounds a little insulted and Simmons curses internally because that wasn’t the intended effect, even if insulted is better than devastated. He twists his wrist and tries again.

“Right. Well…it breaks sometimes. Gets rusty and stuff. And so I have to repair it.” He points to the pinkie finger which has had a loose screw for at least a week now. “Wanna help?”

It is a gamble. Simmons has had limited interactions with the child over the last week in a half (she seems to prefer Grif) but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t noticed things. From observations of her fiddling with puzzles they got from the dollar store, to her constant awe at the robotics around their house, Simmons had wondered if she shared some similar interests to his once Lieutenant. A Lieutenant who used to fiddle with whatever she could find when she too woke up screaming.

Lauren looks at his arm. Then at his bad eye, the red glow one of the lone sources of light in the room. And back at the arm. She presses her lips together.

“Sure.”

By the time Grif gains enough energy to check up on them, Simmons has shown her how a basic circuit works.

The next day, he finds her buried in the kid’s guide to science he bought her.

* * *

His name is Dick Simmons and his husband has published his first bestseller.

Simmons isn’t sure what’s better: the fact Grif has to dress up in a suit for every book signing he does, or that he actually has to sign every last book.

“How far do you think he’ll get before he loses it,” Lauren says from where they’re standing in the local bookstore. She’s standing next to him, wearing her nicest dress and shoes, and Simmons is sure she’ll find a way to ruin both before the end of the night.

“I give him a hundred books.”

“No way.” Lauren shakes her head, her ponytail flying about. Why she has chosen that hairstyle instead of her usual bun is lost on him. “I give him 75. Bet you a donut.”

It is likely a sign of poor parenting to make bets on your spouse with you daughter, but Simmons does it anyway.

As the night carries on, and Grif starts getting grouchier and grouchier, Simmons can’t help but smile as he looks at the crowd that’s gathered. Who ever thought they’d end up here of all places? Together? Stable? With a kid?

Whoever thought they would be good parents?

Whoever thought he’d be a good parent?

“Suck it Dad,” Simmons whispers under his breath. It’s a good feeling. Across the room, Lauren waves at him. Looks like Grif is about to admit defeat.

Simmons smiles and takes a step forward.

* * *

His name is Dick Simmons and they are not giving the little girl up.

“Are you sure about this?” Simmons asks Grif as they sign the fostering papers, three days before their original agreement was up.

“About the kid? Yeah. She’s great.”

“No. About me.” Grif looks up from the pile of papers and frowns. “I didn’t exactly have a great role model of parenting growing up, Grif.”

Grif shrugs. “Neither did I. And look at me, professional child wrangler.” Simmons looks down at the papers and bites his lower lip. He hears Grif groan. “Listen. You’re not gonna be perfect. It’s impossible. But you’re not gonna suck either.”

“How can you know that?”Grif places his hand on Simmons’ shoulder, he looks up to find Grif looking at him like he’s an idiot.

“Since you taught her that circuit thing? Hasn’t woke up screaming since.” He pushes the papers towards Simmons. “So? You in?”

Simmons does not think twice as he  signs the dotted line.

  


End file.
